FIGHT FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE

Wednesday

Dec 23, 2015 at 5:01 AM

A Loss For Words at Chain Reaction in Anaheim, CA. Photos by Jeff Dean. Massachusetts was largely an open book in the late '90s and early 2000s, at least musically. Genre-bending bands were relatively common, insofar as it wasn't quite absurd for a pop punk band to perform alongside aggressive hardcore acts with some regularity. Mixed bills were common, at least relatively so in comparison to the cut-and-paste lineups on the digitally rendered cut-and-paste flyers of today.

Still, when five kids from the South Shore–largely from Abington–got together to play music, it is unlikely that they realized that this town 20 miles below Boston would be home to a sort of mini-revolution in the self-prescribed fervor that would follow A Loss For Words throughout their lifespan. Through lineup changes, a multitude of record labels and as many highs as lows, A Loss For Words started out in the same manner they would close the book: on their own terms.

It took 15 years for the members of A Loss For Words to decide that it was time to take the final sentence of their story into their own hands and call it a day. With a final tour wrapped up (and another cancelled for reasons beyond their control), the boys have just one show left before the lid is propped up on the coffin and nailed shut. It will occur at what is perhaps the likeliest of places: The Worcester Palladium, 261 Main St., a venue that has served as a sort of second home for the pop punk stalwarts over the bands nearly two decade career. Surrounded by friends and family, the show will kick them off into whatever lies on the other side of the road.

A Loss For Words took their share of bumps and bruises–literal and figurative–along the way, but in the end, they always fought for what they believed in and did it their way.

Photo by Jeff Dean. NO REST FOR THE WEARY The plan was to meet up with A Loss For Words in California, but travel logistics, timing and deadlines made the jump to the West Coast difficult. Once settled, it was off to LAX in Los Angeles. The band was in Walnut Creek, CA performing at a venue called The Red House; it would be nearly a full day before we would meet up. A series of mishaps meant that I would spend the evening at a desolate hotel, in sight of the Honda Center, where the Anaheim Ducks play.

The next day, the plan was to meet at a bar. The only sports bar in the area was a shockingly Hooters-esque location known as the Tilted Kilt. Thus would begin the 10 day long voyage.

A Loss For Words have never been strangers to touring and have been on the road in some capacity or another since their founding a decade and a half prior. Still, this was the final hoorah and the desire for the most raucous experience possible was palpable.

If the break between a given tour is the calm before the storm, this particular tour was the storm within the storm. A hurricane-eye flurry of debauchery, without the terrifyingly quiet subtlety, everyone on this tour knew that this was the end of the road and they were more than prepared to face that reality head on and with a level of aggression known only to those standing on the threshold of their middle years and still stiffly defying the end of the line.

“A kid told me I was his favorite bass player today,” said the usually sardonic Mikey Adams, the band's bass player and one of only two members of the band that have been playing since the early days, from the far corner of the cramped barroom table.

He paused just long enough to make it plain that those words meant something to him, but not so long that anyone would get the sense that it meant anything more to a gruff and hilariously self-deprecating Adams. Staring across the table with an overpriced pint in his hand, he added a jovial, “you guys can suck it.”

Mikey Adams in Escondido, CA. Photo by Jeff Dean.

As would become the common theme of the tour, and likely those tours that came before, vocalist Matty Arsenault was not with Adams or the surrogate members of A Loss For Words, he was half a mile away, showering at a friend's house. As anyone who has ever toured in a van and trailer can attest, showers were a hot commodity and it has the ability to make touring artists eyes light up as nothing else can, but this day was the beginning, a meet up of the few who made up the band's final lineup preceding their final show.

Arsenault and Adams are the core members of the band that had been their since the beginning, but the additional members held just as much history in their own right, and the group made for a whirlwind of good times. Everyone in the van had toured extensively in the past and egos were left at the door, unlike traditional tours, there wasn't the van clinger-on that needed to be watched, coddled or taken care of. Everyone knew their role and everyone was working toward the communal interest of having the best time possible, occasionally at the detriment of morning drive comfort(which, in itself, likely culminated in a particular hungover morning leading to a cascade of projectile vomit inside the van, I wasn't used to the high-level risk/reward of pre-drive drinking).

Marc Dangora, is still considered a lifelong member of the band and continues to help write music, though his career keeps him off the road.

Joining Adams and Arsenault onstage was drummer Chris Fernandes, likely most well known from his time with the successful Boston post hardcore outfit, Therefore I Am. Fernandes was living in Los Angeles at the time of the tour, but would depart for one of the Carolinas at the end. The guitar playing duties were shared by two members of current punk/alternative act Major League from New Jersey, Matt Chila and Brian Joyce. Chila and Joyce could not possibly be more different from one another: Chila a boisterous ladies man and Joyce the calmer and quieter of the two. The pair work well together, however, and whatever dynamic they have with one another also anchored the touring A Loss For Words.

Rounding out the passenger base in the van was myself as well as photographer and videographer Jeff Dean. Dean was on hand to join his friends, take photos (that are used extensively throughout this article) as well as continue to film a documentary, “End of an Error,” on the band's final days that will be released at some distant point in the future. Dean, who will tell you himself that he doesn't truly have a “home” in the sense of a place he spent the majority of his life (though Ohio is the closest thing to it), currently lives in Austin, TX, but had bounced around while a member of the United States Army.

There were others piled into the rust red and stuttering van on loan for the tour; it wasn't a particularly large passenger van and without a trailer, gear, merch, luggage and sleeping gear were stored alongside the human cargo. A veritable revolving door was open to friends who came along for a day or two at a time, from all over the United States. If they were looking to join the fun, they were welcome to pack into the van, sitting on laps or laying between slots on the floor.

The journey through the West Coast and into the South bounced back and forth between full-steam-ahead fun and surprisingly wistful moments of self-awareness. The balance was appropriate given the circumstances.

A Loss For Words in El Paso, TX. Photo by Jeff Dean. START AS YOU MEAN TO GO ON The Chain Reaction is a legendary all-ages punk venue in Anaheim, California. Two bands supported A Loss For Words on this final tour, Forever Came Calling and Seasons Change. It is the eternally accepted practice to watch fellow tour mates every night in a show of solidarity and while there were many nights like that, this show was not one of them. This was the introductory period and most were content to say hello (and goodbye) to lifelong friends with a cold beer in one hand, another leaning against the side of the van.

“There's nothing we've done that's been practical,” said Adams in a moment of stoic (and stark) self awareness. “But, there's also nothing we've done that was more important than this.”

The 'this' is writing and performing, being a musician was a life that Adams and company may have chosen for themselves given the option, but in this case it didn't give the option, it was a calling of some kind and they just went along for the ride, the urge to create too strong to turn down.

“We've spent all these nights in a parking lot, having the best time of our lives,” he added.

A Loss For Words at The Chain Reaction, Anaheim, CA. Photo by Jeff Dean.

The show was a resounding success, the Chain Reaction was boiling over and the heat in the room was a clear indicator of the excitement of the crowd. Crowd and fans aren't very accurate terms in the world of punk music, though pop punk may seem only tangentially connected to those early values, a DIY upbringing and continued existence has a tendency to keep one on the right track. The “fans” are always “kids” or maybe even friends, the stage belongs to everyone and that rule is followed to every possible degree.

Chain Reaction, Anaheim, CA. Photo by Jeff Dean.

After the show, that tiny red van was stuffed with people once again and careened off to the house of two friends, a married couple in a place called Ontario. The couple were friendly and everyone showered as their two tiny black dogs (a pug and a Pomeranian) ran amuck adorably throughout the small house. The evening stretched past any possible pretense of “reasonable hour” and no one woke up feeling quite as refreshed as they would have liked.

The first order of business was traveling to a sports bar in downtown San Diego, being from the South Shore, the members of the band are staunch New England Patriots supporters and you would have been forgiven for thinking that this was not a group of scruffy punk rockers but an enthusiastic sports club trolling for drinks. In this case, both points are equally true.

Following an afternoon “tune up,” the further journey was to a house show in Escondido. House show is the colloquial term, but here the show was inside of a small detached garage behind a house. In an odd dynamic, the home was filled with one tiny dog and two gargantuan cats.

It was raining as the band set up and performed. The interior of the garage was incredibly hot and the collective sweat through the evening's movements created a sickly smell that could only be appreciated due to its excited creation. Originally, the show was supposed to be held at a larger music venue, but was cancelled and moved last minute. The garage is filled with flyers and posters of bands, it is obvious how much this place means to the local music community.

Photographer Jeff Dean joins in on the action during a house show in Escondido, CA. Photo by the spirit of Jeff Dean's camera.

“We started in VFW halls and basements,” said Arsenault moments before performing. He is leaning against the exposed wooden walls of the garage. He is speaking quickly as he always does, and finds a way to exude both confidence and concern simultaneously. Matty doesn't 'shut down,' he is always running hot, it's just his nature. “In a way, I'm glad the show got cancelled so we can play here. We started from this and it's nice to end here. I'm 31 years old and I'm playing in a garage. Some people outside of the scene probably think I'm nuts, but I fucking love it.”

Arsenault in El Paso, TX. Photo by Jeff Dean.

Onstage, Arsenault and Adams are equal parts standup comedians, motivational speakers and a sort of pop punk ambassadorial stewardship program. Their onstage “persona” is their persona, there is no blur between the two. Arsenault reflects on his years with the band, the moments within the community that matter and about the power of positivity. Adams balances that with his lightning quick wit that always hovers in self-deprecation and nearly always involves some sort of hilarious–if not occasionally bizarre–tale of past antics.

“I played an entire tour in pajamas,” said a smiling Adams to the crowded room. “We had just put a record out and the rest of the band actually said, come on, you can't wear pajamas and slippers for an entire tour, we're professionals. I ended up putting pants on over them, so technically I didn't give in to what they wanted. All the photos from then, I had frumpy butt.”

Staying at a small home in a remote area of California that evening, the morning calm was cut short as a potential crisis developed: the van was being towed away. Naturally, this would have made touring difficult and some debate and a bit of cash later, the van was off the tow truck and back in a legal parking spot. It was off to Las Vegas, NV for what was shaping up to be two days of pure debauchery. LOOSELY CONTROLLED CHAOS The Excalibur Hotel and Casino became the home base, outside of that, all bets were off. I was told in no uncertain terms while walking to the room to drop off my luggage, that the time spent in Las Vegas was strictly off the record. Suffice it to say, it was a miracle that the van had as many members leaving the hotel that it did when it arrived.

Mike Adams onstage in Anaheim, CA. Photo by Jeff Dean.

A particular realization tends to dawn on you while driving through the scrubby desert leaving Nevada; the joy of tour is in the individual moments. Whether that is taking in a Bruins game at a hooters knock off in Anaheim, or clinking bottles together at a Patriots rivalry game on San Diego, it's the smiles in between that make it. Naturally, the shows are important and a huge component of the pleasure derived from the experience, but there is stress there. Will anybody show up? How excited will the crowd be? Do we get drink tickets? There's something about driving in a van with friends through a new place, cracking jokes and smiles that can't be replicated. There are times when you just want to be back home in bed, but no matter what, it's always over too soon.

Tour makes very little sense in the traditional way. Spending months on end away from home, scraping by to make ends meet playing in dingy clubs and moldy basements. The background–the mountains, desert, rivers and expanse of American landscape–is barely noticed while cruising endlessly on an empty highway. As ever, the foreground is more important than the background and for this journey, the foreground was a dimly lit dashboard joined by a soundtrack of Seal, Boyz II Men and various Motown hits.

A Loss For Words have literally traveled the world. A multitude of United States and European tours are an obvious component of the rigorous touring schedule, but they have travelled to less traditional areas of the world as well, like Japan, Australia and even Russia.

“There are so many different types of success,” said Arsenault at a long-since-forgotten bar with some beer or another in his hand. “You can make a million dollars or do what you like to do, those are both successes. For me, I never made money, but I've done what I love for years. That is success, too.”

A Loss For Words was the band from Massachusetts that could. They lived it, in every sense of the word. They were the band that could–and did–but it was never easy. Touring has its own off-the-road toll to pay.

Fernandes can't help but reflect on his days of constant touring with the now defunct (except for a special appearance at the final show at the Palladium) Therefore I Am. Like many that have spent their lives on the road, you dream of the day it comes to an end, but when it does, it can be difficult to adjust.

Chris Fernandes in Anaheim, CA. Photo by Jeff Dean.

"When I stopped touring, part of me was a little happy that I wouldn't be touring anymore,” said Fernandes. “My life would finally have some normalcy. I could have friends again, I could maintain relationships and make money. But I was miserable, it sucked. I've been to the other side of the world before and now I'm getting talked down to by strangers. Now that I'm back on tour, I was like, 'this is sick.' It felt nostalgic. It felt right. It's so good to be back.”

It was good to be back, but as the road stretched on and the final batch of shows approached, there wasn't a single person in the van that didn't feel the crushing weight of finality on their shoulders and everyone was determined to make each moment count. THE OTHER SIDE Touring is a hugely fun activity, being in a band that operates on that level consistently is one of the most rewarding experiences someone can have. There are sacrifices to be made as well. Spending the majority of your life in a van with your friends comes with a cost.

Photo by Jeff Dean.

Prior to this final West Coast tour, the band was supposed to embark on an East Coast run with fellow pop punk band, Man Overboard. Unfortunately, the tour would be cancelled at the last minute. The reasoning was vague–someone in Man Overboard had some sort of injury–but the result was the same, the tour was off.

This was devastating in several ways. First, the band did not have the time to make arrangements for another East Coast tour before their last show and, perhaps more important, it affected the bottom line hugely. An East Coast band is expected to draw more and be more successful while touring the East Coast, this tour would have been the money maker to pay for the West Coast journey. It was not to be, to the detriment of everyone involved. Still, the show must go on and they weren't about to cancel their last West Coast tour as well. Monetary issues are a big deal to bands, but they are only one component of the occasionally dark whole.

A Loss For Words in Las Vegas, NV.

It was a late-night desert drive when a very real conversation was sparked by the low yellow glowing lights of the van interior. The headlights bouncing off the even pavement joined in to provide just enough light to create a vague halo around each individual in the van.

“One thing about touring that makes me crazy is the paranoia of dying on the highway,” said a surprisingly somber Arsenault. “It's hard to explain for people who don't tour, but it's always been something in my head.”

The entire van nods in silent agreement. It should be unsurprising that those who make their living on the road consider the reality of a life on the highway in such a darkly realistic manner. Everyone in the van adds in their own story, experience, thoughts and fears.

“When you've had those experiences, you are on high alert in those scenarios,” said Joyce. “Whether that's icy roads, or when we were driving once and there were power lines hanging out into the middle of the road. They split and they blew a whole in the side of the car behind us. When we got to the car, the husband and wife were covered in blood, they had no lights on. If we hadn't stopped, we would have never known, nobody would have known.”

Adams propped himself up from his sleeping position between the two “captains chairs” to add his thoughts on the subject.

“I just accepted that we were probably going to die out here,” he said. “You always hear about those things, bands in awful accidents. This is what we risk for maybe a hundred bucks a night.”

As if to prove the dangers of the profession, melodic hardcore band The Ghost Inside were involved in a tragic, fatal, bus accident driving from El Paso, TX, the very route that the rust red van would take A Loss For Words the following day. The bus was struck head on by an 18-wheeler and both drivers were lost. The band members themselves were in tough shape, though each survived the accident. The following day, Arsenault and company would meet those members of The Ghost Inside who were well enough to stay in a hotel near the hospital and later, visit the hospital to share some positive thoughts.

There are very few moments lacking in self-reflection on the road and, in light of the accident, everyone is supremely aware of the reality of tour. WHAT COUNTS A Loss For Words have released a number of records and EPs over the years and while the band consists of members who don't take themselves too seriously, they take the music and lyrics very seriously. There are a few songs that fans take especially personally. One song in particular, Mt. St. Joseph, seems to resonate particularly deeply.

The song is an emotional tribute to a friend lost to overdose and a sort of call to arms, or, at the very least, a point to focus on for those dealing with that same sort of loss.

And I remember that day the scent crept from under your door. They found you three days later, You were buried under your sheets. It was too damn hard to watch As heaven and hell held you down like anchors, And your demons finally lulled you back to sleep.

That is a song based on a personal experience, but it's also something many can relate to. While performing in an Eagle Aerie Hall in Henderson, NV, a group of young men break down and cry during the performance. It comes to light later that they had experienced that same loss and the song was something of a reflection on that for them. The group takes time after the song to speak with them and hug one another, before starting the set back up. The songs mean a lot to those in attendance, but it's clear it means just as much to those onstage, as well.

“It was intimate,” said Adams after the set, puffing away at a menthol cigarette under the vast southwestern sky. “I was tearing up when that kid cried. There weren't a lot of people there, but they all really wanted to be there.”

Photo by Jeff Dean.

The intangibles of A Loss For Words' impact on the musical landscape they are a part of are important, though it is likely that those intangibles specifically will be lost to time. For those who do recall the way that had been paved by bands like A Loss For Words, it meant a lot.

“They are one of the most important bands for this scene and this culture,” said Joseph Candelaria, vocalist and guitarist of Forever Came Calling, prior to the A Loss For Words set. “They did this all by themselves when no one else was there to do it and they paved the way. I know we've played places that didn't even have shows before A Loss For Words came through years ago.”

These specifics are likely lost on the members of the band, too, but this is how a music scene survives and thrives. They all know it's time to move on to other things, but that doesn't mean there isn't an incredible reluctance.

“This is the only thing I ever want to do,” said Adams on the back patio of his mother's house in Arizona, she had just watched her son perform for the first time ever. “The only thing I want to do is tour. The only vacation I ever went on was my senior year. My family, we never had money to do that stuff. I got to see the world, tour was the only thing I could do to experience that.”

“It's a bummer man,” he continued. “The reality hasn't completely sunk in yet. It can't, we still have more shows. It's heavy, but I did love that. It's sad knowing that we're never going to play here again, but this is exactly what I want a last tour to be like. It's amazing.” END OF AN ERA Before anyone had any real chance to prepare for it, the end of the tour had arrived. There was little fanfare–the final night was spent ensuring a sick and uncomfortable flight back to Boston–but, perhaps purposely, the event wasn't made to feel final. It was the end, but maybe if you didn't look straight at it, it wasn't over yet.

"Me and Mikey started this band when we were in high school,” said Arsenault. “That was 15 years ago. We've had a lot of amazing memories. It's been amazing, but it's time. We're not really breaking up, we're retiring. It's just time to do something else."

Stars in Arizona. Photo by Jeff Dean.

The obviousness of that statement doesn't make it any easier to swallow while waiting in a bustling Dallas-Fort Worth Airport terminal. All that's left now is one final show at the Worcester Palladium.

In the end, they said goodbye in the only way they knew how: on their own terms and in their own way. A Loss For Words left the scene in proper fashion and anything else would have been, frankly, disingenuous.

In Worcester, on Sunday, Dec. 27, two days after Christmas in one of the most iconic music venues in Central Mass, the band will step onstage and play one final time. As is the nature of such deeply invested and communicative music, someone else will pick up the torch, probably sooner rather than later.

It's entirely possible that this new champion of independent music may never know that they owe A Loss For Words a debt of gratitude for paving the way–in their own way–and never settling for someone else's concept of a job well done.

Some of the crew on night one in Las Vegas, NV. Photo by Jeff Dean.

Reporter Joshua Lyford can be reached at 508-749-3166, ext. 325, or by email at Jlyford@worcestermagazine.com. Follow Josh on Twitter @Joshachusetts.